Voyeur
by Palgrave Goldenrod
Summary: She'll never admit it, but Kate loves watching Richard Castle work. Future fic.


**Voyeur**

**Author**: Palgrave

**Fandom(s):** _Castle_

**Pairing(s):** Kate Beckett / Richard Castle

**Rating:** Ooh… PG-13?

**Disclaimer:** Kate Beckett, Richard Castle and all characters, properties etc of _Castle_ © of Andrew Marlowe, Beacon Pictures and ABC Studios. This is an unofficial work of fanfiction intending no violation of copyright or financial reward. And let's face it, if I owned _Castle_, I wouldn't need to post this on here. All feedback welcome, as long as it's constructive.

**Warnings:** Despite the title, nothing of a graphic (or even particularly adult) nature. Descriptions of two adults in love getting frisky with each other however. Also, a future fic involving pregnancy of a main character, for those who are(n't) interested in such things. Also, first _Castle_ fic. Enjoy!

**Summary:** She'll never admit it, but Kate loves watching Richard Castle work.

* * *

Every so often, Kate will look up from the book she's resting on her stomach to watch Richard Castle write. She makes sure to time it so that she won't distract him or get caught, usually taking the opportunity at a time when he's finding what he's currently working on particularly interesting and engrossing (she can tell by the way his fingers hit the keys much faster; she finds the sound almost relaxing in a way), and thus is less likely to notice her. She just sneaks a few moments to study him, to memorize the look in his eye and the furrow of his brow as he concentrates on transferring the images he conjures in his head into words on the screen, arranging them for best effect.

Even a few months ago, when she was still the workaholic cop with the full caseload and the unofficial partner with a penchant for irritatingly unlikely theories, Kate never thought she'd be this comfortable. Sitting in her mother's old rocking chair with him. Watching him work.

She likes it.

When she's watching him, Kate often wonders what exactly he's writing, but Rick refuses to let her see anything until he feels good and ready about it. He might not mind having her in the room with him, but he hates having people look over his shoulder when he writes and see what he's writing before he's ready, gets twitchy and irritable and defensive. Kate learnt that early on. There's three people in the entire world he'll allow to be in the same room as him whenever he's in writing mode, but even that privilege comes with certain limits.

She wonders if what he's currently writing is about her.

Suddenly, his typing stops and his eyes flick over and meet hers. Damn it. Busted.

"What?" Castle asks, eyebrow raised.

"Nothing," she replies innocently, looking down to her book. To be honest, it's not one of her favourites, but Rick knows full well who's body of work will always be her favourite, and she refuses to inflate his ego any more than it already is by reading one of _them_ in front of him.

(Unless it's his latest, of course. Ego or not, Kate is also one of three people in the entire world he'll ever let see his work before the editors or publishers or anyone else, and no _way_ is she turning down that particular privilege; even now, even after everything, her inner fangirl somehow finds a way to take over.)

Unfortunately for her, when she flicks her gaze towards him she can tell by the glint in his eye that Rick has clocked exactly what she was up to. Kate's not sure what her tell in this case is, but he's gotten _very_ good at reading her. And if she knows him (and she does, very well, in every sense you can care to mention), he'll never let her hear the end of it.

He smiles. There's something both insufferably and yet charmingly cocky about it. Kate doesn't know whether to slug him or kiss him when he gets like this. But either one would also involve getting out of the chair to move over to him, which, well, is not her preferred course of action right now.

She could if she wanted to. She just doesn't want to.

"You were watching me write."

"Was not."

"You were. Admit it. It's why you like being in here. You're a writing voyeur, Kate. You like watching writers... _do_ it."

Kate's about to deny it _and_ get on his case for the really cheesy line when, from somewhere deep inside her memory, a long-forgotten argument resurfaces, back from when they first met and he'd just started following her, when he was hanging around the precinct watching her do paperwork and getting on her nerves like a irritatingly smug and flirtatious puppy. So she meets his expression neutrally, and simply says "Maybe I just like it here."

It doesn't take very long for Castle to catch up with her. "I dunno," he replies smoothly, leaning back in his chair. The leather creaks; it's new, expensive, and she bets not nearly as comfortable as hers. "Seems kind of... creepy."

So he does remember, then.

"Is that so?" she retorts playfully.

"It is. Sure you don't have anywhere else to be? Sure you're not... hiding?"

Kate almost bursts out laughing. Even if there were anywhere she had or wanted to be - and there most certainly is not - then in her current condition she wouldn't do a very good job of hiding from anyone. Instead, she carries on paraphrasing an old argument. "No. Hiding would be drinking a fifth of scotch and building a fort out of the comforter. I'm told that's unhealthy."

Of course, Kate hasn't touched a drop in months, now. Alcohol she doesn't really miss much - hell, she barely touched the stuff anyway - but cutting back on the caffeine was the real struggle. Oh, she still misses her early morning pick-me-up, Castle walking into the bullpen of the precinct with two large cups from Starbucks, her order memorized and ma down to perfection (and the coffee wasn't the only pick-me-up she'd needed back then, to be honest). Even a nice cup of tea wouldn't go amiss. But the doctor hemmed and hawed and told her to cut everything out to be on the safe side. Apparently continuing both the Beckett and Castle lines has not been without complications.

"The scotch I'd have to veto," Rick replies, "but if it's a comforter fort you're after I'd be happy to build you one."

Kate rolls her eyes affectionately. "Really."

He affects offense. "I'll have you know I'm an expert architect when it comes to the comforter fort. My designs will stand the test of time."

"I'll bet."

"I'll show you; Frank Lloyd Wright couldn't compete with my designs."

"I'm good, thanks." Kate smiles at him and looks down to her book. She hears Rick resume typing, but it's slower than before, more scattered and infrequent. She starts to feel guilty for distracting him; he was on a roll and now she's blown it.

"Actually," Rick suddenly says, "I was almost done anyway."

Kate looks up at him, exasperated. Oh, so he's a psychic now?

"Yes," he smirks. "I can read your mind. Or, at least, your face. You bit the left corner of your lower lip, just like you always do when you feel guilty about something. Since I was typing less after we talked just then, not hard to deduce what you were feeling guilty about. Elementary, you might say."

She rolls her eyes again. He'll seize on any opportunity to act like Sherlock Holmes. "Okay then, so tell me, Great Detective – what made you think I was watching you?"

"Simple," he replies, "I was listening to you. You stopped rocking. You always stop rocking when you're paying attention to what I'm doing. Trust me, I've been paying attention."

"You were listening to me? _That's_ pretty creepy."

"I like it." The gentle sincerity which he infuses these words with is gone when he, rather smugly, continues with "Besides which; _you_ were watching _me_. Voyeur."

He smirks. She narrows her eyes at him, daring him to keep being clever, though part of her is happy to hear that he's not bothered by the slight creak as she rocks back and forth. Kate's been a bit concerned about that, actually, since the rocking chair doesn't really fit in with the rest of the modern decor in Castle's office; it's old, a traditional design, the wood dulled with lack of varnish, the cushions faded patterns of flowers. But her dad brought it up for her, it's comfortable, and she's actually been sleeping much better since she started using it.

(It was her mom's. This might have something to do with it. She can neither confirm nor deny.)

And for all his teasing and her denials, Kate _does_ like being in his office with him when she writes - and not (just) because she likes watching him, but because it can get pretty lonely in the rest of the loft just by herself when he's cooped up in here, what with Alexis at college and Martha comfortably installed in her old apartment. It's one of the things that was hardest to adjust to after she started leave, being alone in this huge space; the company of spending time in here with him as he writes, even in silence as she reads or listens to her iPod and he writes, lost in his own head, makes things easier, and she doesn't want to think that she is disrupting him.

(Disrupting him any more than she already _has_, at least; they've gotten used to each other over the last month and they've settled into a comfortable routine, but the month _before_ that... In between Kate adjusting to not being at work and getting under Rick's feet, Rick adjusting to her being around and getting under _her_ feet, a run of sleepless nights, and various other issues both annoying, painful and gross... yeah, that month was not fun. For anyone concerned.)

He begins typing again, still slightly scattered, but this time he doesn't stop talking. "You can keep watching, you know. I know you _like_ it."

Honestly, the man can make anything seem filthy. "Don't flatter yourself, Castle."

"Ah, I understand. Mentally undressing me's no fun when I know what you're doing. If you want, I can just save you the trouble and describe what I'm wearing underneath here to you. I'll give you a clue; very, _very_ little."

Oh, please. As if she hasn't seen - and enjoyed - what's under there plenty of times before in the flesh, so to speak. And his seductive tone would be a lot more convincing if he wasn't wearing the old shirt and jeans he always likes to wear when he's in writing mode. "There's nothing under there that would interest me."

That's a blatant lie, and he knows it. "Are you sure, Kate? You seemed to be finding it _very_ interesting a few minutes ago."

"Watch it, Rick. I can still kick your ass, you know."

"Really?" He looks at her, an expression of pure virgin innocence on his face. "Why don't you come over here and say that?"

She glares at him. That's just playing dirty, and he knows it.

His innocent expression doesn't change, and Kate actually does try to get up to wipe the look off his face. But it is a task that, by herself, is much easier said than done for her at this stage of the proceedings, and after a few moments of ineffectual, weighed-down shuffling, she gives up and slumps back into the chair, fuming at him.

On cue, Rick gets up, walks around his desk to stand in front of her, and offers his hands. Kate pouts, half-intending to refuse them just to spite him, but stubborn pride gives way to a need to get out of the chair, and with bad grace she grabs hold of them and lets him help lift her up. The momentum carries her forward slightly, causing the swell of her abdomen to bump into him, and he takes the opportunity to move his arms around her, hands on her lower back, pulling her closer into him.

She could still break his hold on her and kick his ass. Damn right she could. She just doesn't want to, is all.

He's smiling at her, innocence giving away to amusement.

"Oh, shut up," Kate replies sulkily.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were not saying anything incredibly loudly."

"Guilty as charged. Also, mentally undressing you. Turnabout is fair play after all."

Kate pouts - she does _not_ mentally undress him (much) when she watches him write, no matter what he says - but before she can do anything Rick pulls her in slightly closer, pressing her bump further against him. He moves one of his hands to run it through her hair (it's shorter than she normally likes it, barely reaching her collar, but on top of everything else it's just easier to manage this way) before resting it on top of her bump, and leans in to whisper into her ear. "You're amazing, you know that?"

Oh, no. Kate's not letting him sweet-talk his way out of this. She's mad at him, oh yes. It doesn't matter how nice his hand feels gently stroking her belly, or how the vibrations of his deep voice always send tingles through her whenever he whispers into her ear, or how beautiful he always somehow manages to make her feel even now that she's grown to approximately the size of a whale and struggles to get out of chairs, or how much she loves him.

"So, so beautiful."

She's not letting him charm her. She just can't be bothered to move, that's all. And she's definitely _not_ beginning to smile.

Rick kisses her gently, just behind her ear.

"Stop it," Kate says. She means to sound forceful and intimidating. Instead, she sounds kind of bashful and sheepish and in love. Huh.

"Make me," he murmurs again. Teasing, because he knows she loves what he's doing right now and couldn't make herself make him stop even if she tried.

Nevertheless, a token effort seems called for. "I wasn't joking about kicking your ass."

"You wouldn't."

"Oh wouldn't I, Mr. Castle? And you know this because...?"

"Because on top of everything else, it wouldn't be fair."

"Oh?"

"Well, for starters, it's two against one. And I've felt the way she's been kicking in there. No _way_ that doesn't give you an unfair advantage."

He's got a point, there. There's been a few times its felt like there's a hardcore kickboxing tournament going on inside her. If nothing else, the girl Kate's carrying is already beginning to take after her mother in several ways.

"In any case," Rick whispers again, "I'm willing to make it up to you."

"Oh, really?"

"Just say the word." His other hand, resting on her lower back, begins to move lower down. "I'll more than make it up to you."

Kate rolls her eyes and bites her lip at the same time, trying to ignore what he's doing (and the sensations that he's producing) and keep focused. Honestly, the man's insatiable. If anything, he's gotten worse. She's starting to wonder whether he has a fetish. Not, if she's entirely fair and honest, that she's exactly been turning him down (or been shy about initiating it, having gone through several periods of insatiability) over the last few months, but at least she has out-of-control hormones as an excuse.

And, fetish or not, the way his hands feel as they move over her and his lips as he kisses the skin of her neck aren't exactly convincing her this is a bad thing. She sighs, and closes her eyes, letting him continue.

"I'd love you to," she replies to his unspoken question, desire beginning to flow through her...

Then, her eyes suddenly snap open as her bladder suddenly cuts through her ardour to inform that unless she's careful, something _else_ will unfortunately start flowing through her in a few moments.

"But we can't," Kate blurts out awkwardly. Rick stops what he's doing and tilts his head at her, a puzzled frown on his face. "I, uh, need to..."

Enlightenment dawns quickly. "Oh!" He lets go of her, allowing her to waddle - Kate's come to hate that word _so much_ over the last couple of months, but even she has to admit that really, there's no other way to describe it - as quickly as she can to the en-suite bathroom that separates Rick's office from their bedroom. Another advantage of being in the office with him while he works; the close proximity to the bathroom has been coming in handy a lot recently.

Once Kate's done, she emerges to find Rick back at his laptop, having apparently had a flash of inspiration while she was gone and now once more engrossed in typing. All signs of his earlier arousal appear to have dissipated, and not for the first time she mentally curses both his tendency to be seized by sudden inspiration and her body for it's current terrible sense of timing. He's typing fast again, appears to be building to a bit of a crescendo; however, it looks like sex is off the menu for now.

Kate remains by the doorway for a moment, watching him as he types (and _not_ because she' a voyeur and mentally undressing him, she doesn't _care_ what he thinks). She doesn't want to stay standing around for too long - her back will not let her forget it if she does - but at the same time, if she gets back in her rocking chair then she'll never get back out of it for a few hours at least.

But now that the flames of passion have cooled a bit, however, she's starting to feel hungry, and a little bit cabin-feverish. It'd be nice to get out of the loft for a while, go for a stroll around the block and get some fresh air and invigoration. Maybe make it a lunch date, if she can drag Rick away from his latest bout of inspiration. The sky looks a bit grey and grim out of the window, and it'll probably be a bit chilly, but the deli on the corner is close enough to prevent catastrophe if they get caught out in any rain.

"You're watching me again," Rick says in a singsong voice, not looking up.

"As if, Castle." She replies, walking over to the desk (okay, fine, _waddling_ over, shut up).

"It's okay, I know you _really _like it. Sorry to disappoint you though, my darling beautiful voyeur, but..." his typing starts to get even faster, a blur of movement, until eventually he hits the 'Enter' key with a flourish and swivels around in his chair to face her, "I'm all done."

"Really?" Kate asks, surprised. She looks to the clock on the wall; it's barely even noon.

"What can I say," he replies, saving once, short-cut saving twice and creating a backup (his ritual - she still remembers the horror story he tells of "The Day Richard Castle Lost Four Whole Chapters Of _Storm Approaching_ By Over-Relying On Auto Save") before closing the laptop down, all without letting her see a word of what he's written. "I work quick with my muse around."

Despite herself, Kate lets herself grin when he says that. Time was, he'd have been risking physical violence if he ever referred to her as his muse. Oh, how things change.

Rick reaches out, takes her hand, and pulls her gently so that she ends up sitting in his lap. "What now?" he asks, his hand rubbing the small of her back, just the way she likes it after she's been standing for too long. There's a certain glint in his eye, an indication that he might like to take up where things were interrupted by the call of nature. "I believe we were in the middle of something."

Kate has come to the decision, however, that maybe a little revenge is called for here. "Well," she says, leaning in, placing her free hand strategically on his leg and getting her voice to _just_ that husky, flirtatious tone she knows he loves so much, "You know, I _am_ feeling kind of restless..."

Kate lets go of his hand and gently teases Rick's cheek with her finger. He's got that 'turned-on rabbit in the headlights' look on his face. Yep. Still got it. She leans in closer, touches her nose to his, all with her perfected innocent "you mean you are turned on by _me_, monsieur?" look (yeah, so sometimes she likes to play the 'naughty French schoolgirl' with him, sue her).

"And, well... I'm kind in the mood for a good... long... hard..."

He nods a bit too eagerly, completely besotted, hope and desire etched all over his face. She can sense stirrings down below. Really, sometimes he's just _too_ easy.

"...Walk," she finishes with a grin.

Rick pouts as he realizes she was just teasing him, the promise and hope of great sex crashing around him like a stately mansion built on a foundation of straw. "You're mean."

"Yep."

"Really, _really_ mean."

"You know me too well, Mr. Castle."

"From now on, your character's gonna be called Nikki Meanie."

"Better than Nikki Heat."

"Laugh if you will, but you will now and forevermore be known as Detective Meanie. I decree it."

"However will I survive?" As a peace gesture, she kisses him on the nose. "If it makes you feel better, though, I'll buy lunch. And if you're good, I'll even let you build a fort for me out of the comforter when we get home."

He sighs, exaggerated. "Very well. At this point, I'll take what I can get."

She surprises him with a kiss, a quick one, but with just enough passion (and tongue) to be interesting, and a naughty little grin that this time is _not_ just to tease him. "And maybe if you're _really_ good," she continues, "we can carry on where we left off."

"Yes, ma'am," he breathes obediently. Oh, how Kate likes it when he's obedient.

"Good," she replies, tapping him on the chin with her finger. "I thought you'd like the sound of that, Mr. Castle."

He stands, helping her rise as he does so. Even when it's clear she's steady and not going to fall over, he still keeps hold of her from behind, his arms wrapped around her, his hands stroking her bump and his lips very close to her ear.

"I like it very much, Mrs. Castle," he breathes into her ear, before he lets her go to get ready, "Very much indeed."

Oh, it's almost enough for Kate Castle to regret her teasing and cancel their lunch plans and take him right then and there. Almost. She's still eating for two, after all.

As it happens, she's glad she waits. Turns out, he really _does_ make a great comforter fort.

* * *

END


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